Oct 182014
I'm tired of living backward, carping 
"It should have happened like this."
Nobody's left who gives a crap.
Not her, not me.  I don't give a piss.
I can't think about her face.  And I shan't
Think how things should have happened, but didn't.

Her face wasn't exactly pretty, exactly pale.
More sallow, celery yellow, stale--
Like hungry roots had sucked her blood 
Back into impatient earth. 

I loved her once, as I thought I should.
I loved her in my body, in my breath.
Now, I'm tired in my bones, my marrow
Stuffed with regret and meat and sorrow.

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